Drunk in Love
by msziverdavid
Summary: "How do you expect me to make a best man speech without being able to tell your love story!" Tony and Ziva's first encounter is recounted.


**Okay, so I've recently decided that my favourite type of Ziva is drunk Ziva. Well, my imagination of what she would be like. And my next favourite thing is Tony having to deal with drunk Ziva, so that's how this story came to be.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing!**

* * *

"Hey Tony," McGee inquired, taking a big gulp from his coffee cup, "How did you and Ziva come to be together, anyway?"

Ziva shot Tony a look as she swept the cups into the sink and turned on the tap, giving the cups a quick rinse. "I think that should remain between Tony and I. Besides, it's very boring."

"Come on, guys! How do you expect me to give a best man speech without being able to tell your love story?"

Without even realizing it, Ziva rolled her eyes and huffed loudly before taking her seat beside Tony. Their upcoming nuptials had been a great source of stress for everyone on the team. Ziva didn't want to pick flowers or worry about small details (such as would the centrepieces be lilac or lavender coloured!). It all seemed so trivial to her, but everybody else seemed to insist upon worrying about the details. The dress, the ring, the colour scheme. All she wanted was a small wedding with their closest friends and family.

"Tim, if it were up to me there wouldn't be all this… insanity." She waved her arms around, to emphasize how chaotic wedding planning was.

Just then, an alarm sounded. _Buzz. Buzz. Buzz_. That was the signal that their pizza was ready for pickup. Ziva grabbed her phone and slid the alarm off. "Well, I am going to go get the pizza."

She darted around the apartment, grabbing her purse and her wallet which was lodged in the couch cushions and threw on her wool jacket. Before she darted out the door, she gave Tony and quick peck on the lips. As she was about to disappear through the door, she turned back. "Don't you dare tell him how we became a couple." Without another word, she was gone.

Tony gave Tim a mischievous grin. "Ha! Of course I'm going to tell you. Okay, so one night…"

* * *

Why Tony was at the club was a mystery to him. He was no longer a 25 year old fratboy, but yet there he was. The air was thick with cigarette smoke, the floor covered in spilled alcoholic beverages and the dance floor packed with sweaty bodies. This wasn't his scene anymore – he had outgrown it. There just didn't seem to be anything exciting to do on a Saturday night and he had somehow reasoned going to a club was the only alternative.

Even the girls weren't his scene anymore. They were all scantily clad in small black dresses and danced more wildly than he ever remembered. It was all too much, he had decided. Just as he was about to leave (after finishing his second Pepsi) some girl grabbed him through the smoky haze and pulled him onto the dance floor. She moved his hands to her waist and began to dance. But why did this feeling so familiar? He could hardly make out who she was through the dark and flashing lights. Then, a white light caught her face.

"Ziva, what the hell are you doing here?" he yelled over the thumping music.

"I could ask the same of you."

Then, she grabbed his face and kissed him fiercely. She tasted of vodka and cranberries. Not what he expected. When she pulled away, a frown danced on her face. "What?"

"Well, for one, you're probably very drunk, Ziva."

She threw out her arms towards Tony, missing him entirely and hitting the empty space beside him. "Notdrunkatalllll. 'Ve only had three drinks." She held up five fingers.

Tony laughed out loud. Ziva looked seriously at him. She seemed to be adamant she had only consumed three drinks. Before Tony could formulate more words, she pulled him towards the bar.

"Two tequila shotssss," she requested, pulling the s for as long as possible.

When the bartender wearily poured the shots and placed them down in front of the couple, Ziva took both of them. It was obviously time to go home. He began to pull her away from the bar and she complied. Once they were outside, had to wrestle Ziva into his car.

"You know what, Tony? I'm a free woman!" she exclaimed suddenly, darting out of the side of his car. Now, she stood in the middle of the street, spinning frantically.

"Yes, very free. Please get in the car so I can take you home." He moved towards her and took her purse. Making a quick check for her keys, his stomach fell. Where the hell were her keys?

"Ziva, where are your keys – to your apartment?"

A look of worry crossed her face and she sat in the middle of the road and giggled madly. "Oops. I forgot 'em."

Tony scooped her up and put her in the backseat and clicked her seatbelt into place. "Well, my place it is then."

"Oooh." She cooed, reaching out to grab his face again. He dodged her hand. A pout appeared on her face. Although he would never admit it – drunk Ziva was very cute. If he had been drunk too, who knows what would be happening right now. His pulse raced and he could feel the butterflies in his stomach. Mentally, he scolded himself. No, that was not a very good thought.

On the drive to his apartment, Ziva rambled on.

"Hey Tony, I'm super glad tonight happened because I really didn't know you liked to go clubbing. We should do this more often. I'm not actually that drunk. I think you're drunk too. Ireallylikeyou. I didn't say this." She burped before continuing, "I am very glad we ran into each other. Let'snottell Gibbs okay? Gibbs is a butthead."

Tony snorted into the steering wheel. Butthead. That was some new vocabulary for his ninja. "Well that's gr-"

She ignored his comment and continued, "Can you please hurry hurry rush rush to your apartment? I really need to tell you something it's really important _rush hurry hurry._"

Drunk Ziva was certainly something else. She didn't slur her words as much as Tony had expected, but she was definitely a lot more open and vocal. Also, she tended to repeat herself a lot. But something that struck him, was she needed to tell him something important. It was probably just the alcohol talking. Or was it?

"Okay, you can tell me once we're home." He agreed, as she kept rambling on.

When they pulled into his apartment parking lot, Ziva unlocked the door herself and fell onto the concrete. Tony was there in an instant, removing her shoes. Getting her up a full set of stairs would be very difficult. Carrying her seemed to be the only option. He clutched Ziva close to him and she giggled, and stuck her nose close to his chest – and inhaled deeply.

"You smell like sawdust."

"Thank you."

"What do I smell like?"

"Alcohol and stale peanuts."

"Puhlease put me down now, Tonyyyy. I can walk. I have legs."

Deciding not to argue with her, he put her down. She was a little unsteady on her feet, but took the stairs one step at a time and gripped the railing tightly. When they reached the landing by his apartment, she regained her balance and leapt at Tony. She kissed him so passionately that he couldn't help but give in. He unlocked the door to his apartment and they stumbled in, still kissing. He put his hands through her tangled curls as an effort to bring her closer to him. They continued for several moments. All his dreams were coming true. Tony guessed this was Ziva's "something important." As he pushed the door closed, Ziva undid a button on his shirt.

No. No. Not like this. Ziva would hate herself in the morning, and then she would blame it on her state of drunkness. Not like this.

"No," he murmured against her cheek, "Not like this."

Suddenly offended, Ziva pulled away. "Fine." She sounded hurt, disappointed. But he knew if they continued – her guilt would undo all the feelings that they would share.

"You'd hate yourself - and me - in the morning. Is that what you want?"

"Yes," she said breathlessly, lunging towards him again. He caught her wrists.

"No, it's not. Please, Ziva. Just, go to sleep and tomorrow you'll be glad I said no."

She yanked herself away from him. "Bhye." She slurred before stumbling into his room and slamming the door. The rest, she doesn't remember.

* * *

Ziva awoke to cold sheets and pounding headache that she swore she could feel in her feet. She drank too much and – wait – this wasn't her own bed. It smelled familiar, way, way too familiar. Oh shit. No. Why wasn't she wearing any clothes. Oh god. Her and Tony. The last thing… the last thing she could remember was kissing him in his kitchen. So many questions, so little answers. Before she could stop herself, Ziva lurched out of bed and ran into the kitchen fully naked.

"Ah!" Tony screeched, dropping a piece of bacon he was frying. He immediately covered his eyes. "Ziva, what the fuck are you doing?"

"What the fuck am I doing? What the fuck did _we_ do?"

"Why are you naked in my kitchen?!"

"Last night! Don't pretend like this didn't happen!"

"What?" He resisted the temptation to peek through his fingers.

"Last night! We were at the bar and then I wake up here… like this!"

"Sadly, that's not my doing. In fact, I'm very confused as to why you're still not wearing any clothes in my kitchen."

"But last night!"

"Yeah, we made out but nothing beyond that. What do you remember up until?"

"Here, kissing in the doorway and then… nothing."

"Well, I sent you to bed, fully clothed. You were pretty pissed off at me." Suddenly, he's laughing so hard he's uncovered his eyes and is wiping tears from them.

"Stop laughing, Tony!"

"Okay, you're right." He throws his arms up, "I still don't understand why you're not wearing any clothes." He quickly covers his eyes again.

Suddenly, it comes back to her. She's lying in his bed, pissed that she's been rejected. Surely she can show him. She remembers shimmying out of her tight black dress and intending to march straight into the living room to show him what he's missing out on. Before she can get out of bed, she passes out.

Her entire body goes red. "Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit."

Tony drops his hand from his face and looks Ziva right in the eyes. He snorts as he flips the bacon. "What?"

"I need clothes!"

He looks up at her again, "In my top drawer. You'll find pants and a hoodie. Take your pick." Dutifully, he covers his eyes again as Ziva returns to his bedroom.

She puts her underwear back on and rifles through his top drawer, finding an old NCIS shirt and some black generic sweatpants. The scent of him is overwhelming in these clothes. She buries her nose in the sleeve of the shirt and inhales deeply. She'll never admit it, but she could get used to it.

When she renters the kitchen, Tony covers his eyes again and laughs. He peeks through them and mimics a sigh of relief. Ziva rolls her eyes.

"So… so, we didn't… sleep together?"

"Nope." He plates the bacon and places it in front of her. Beside her plate is a bottle of Tylenol and a glass of orange juice.

"Why not."

Tony is taken off guard; he doesn't really know what to say. "Uh, well…"

"Well?"

"I didn't want you to hate yourself or _me_ when you woke up and…"

"And?"

He counters his next words before admitting, "I wanted you to remember when we uh, slept together."

"Hmm."

"What?" He slides a pancake on her plate.

"You do want to sleep with me." She's unaware that she's blushing madly. "I mean you've already seen me naked."

He barks out a laugh before sitting down beside her and cutting into his pancake.

"Hey!" Ziva declares, "You know what I think, tit for tot!"

The senior agent nearly spits out of orange juice, "It's tit for tat, and no – don't get any ideas."

A silence blankets over them as they eat. The raging hangover that has plagued Ziva can only be cured with bacon.

"You're a good kisser," the Israeli admits.

"I'm even better when the recipient is sober."

"I think we should test it out…" Ziva says, before grabbing his face and pressing her lips against his.

Tony whispers, his breath hot on her cheek, "So… I heard there's this really good way to cure a headache…"

* * *

McGee gapes at Tony, "Ziva told me that you asked her out to dinner!"

"She wishes."

Tony doesn't tell McGee about the part where Ziva's naked in his kitchen – that moment is all his.

Silently, Ziva renters the kitchen. She takes on look at the smirk at Tony's face and gasps before smacking him lightly on the arm.

"You told McGee?!" she cries.

"Not the whole story – I left out some details!"

"Which ones?" McGee quips.

"Incriminating ones."

The ex-Mossad agent glares daggers at the two men sitting in her kitchen, "If this gets out at the wedding – you're both burnt bacon."

**FIN**

**Let me know what you guys thought! ****:) ****Thanks for reading! **


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